


To The Bone

by Notawriterjustalurker



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Drowning, F/M, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Light Angst, Oral Sex, Post-Season/Series 03, Rescue, Sharing Body Heat, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notawriterjustalurker/pseuds/Notawriterjustalurker
Summary: Matt rescues Karen from the freezing waters of the River Hudson -
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	To The Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Battled with this one. Wrote it, binned it, dammed it all to hell, wrote it again, fuck it, here it is 😂🤷

He'd almost been too late. He still could be.

This was all because of him, his poor judgement. He should've known better. It was reckless to antagonise a man backed into a corner. Just because he knew he didn't have a knife, or a gun, doesn't mean he didn't have a weapon. He had her. He had Karen. Scared animals bite. Of course they do.

And there wasn't anything he could have done then, after he'd sent her plummeting down into the obsidian waters of the Hudson. He already knew Matt's weakness, he'd seen how much he'd panicked as he'd grabbed her and dragged her closer to the edge of the docks, ultimately forcing him to make a decision. To fight or to rescue her.

And the currents of the Hudson are undoubtedly treacherous. Matt thinks he would sooner leap from a tall building and risk the perils of gravity than willingly wade through, even an inch of that, cruel, silt-laden, hell-creek. Matt also knows a thing or two about freezing water - that of which the Hudson is full of - it's without a doubt, the biggest thief of heat there is, it takes what it does not need, strips you to your core, to your bones. The heavy winter coat Karen had been wearing when she fell was sure to drag her to her death. He knew that. And it would only be made quicker by the icy water lapping at her chin, squeezing at her chest, threatening to embrace fully her from all sides. He'd had minutes. Seconds, before it was too late.

It's not how people imagine it to be, drowning. It's quick and subtle, no flapping arms or gurgling cries that make it easy to locate a person in the water. So Matt's sure, if it weren't for his senses, he'd have already lost her, visually, she'd have already gone, her body sinking under the weight of her clothes, her golden hair rising up like seaweed until there was nothing more to be seen except the glistening of city lights atop an endless sheet of black.

But that didn't happen. He had her. He'd gotten her out.

* * *

  
  


"Maybe we should call Claire" Foggy says restlessly.

"Call her if you want," Matt snaps. He doesn't mean to, he's probably right, she probably should be in the hospital and Foggy's rightfully terrified.

"I need blankets, Foggy. In the cupboard. Can you get them?"

He startles into action as Matt lays Karen out on the bed, listening for any signs of lucidity. She's not unconscious but he doesn't think she's awake either, she's somewhere in the middle, floating in a sort of suspended state, hopelessly awaiting a flame to chase the cold out of her body. 

"Karen, sweetheart," Matt says shakily, "I have to get these wet clothes off you," he leans her ridged and shivering body against his torso to strip off her blouse before unclipping her bra.

"How long did she stop breathing for?" Foggy asks, walking over only to immediately turn on his heel at the sight of her.

"I don't know. Two, maybe three minutes." 

"Shit," he tosses the blankets and towels he's found onto the bed and returns to continue wearing a hole in the floor with his incessant pacing, back and forth across the bedroom doorway.

"You did CPR?" Foggy adds.

"Yes"

"Mouth to mouth?"

Matt rolls his eyes, " _yes,_ I did mouth to mouth, what's that got to do with anything?" Matt finally gets Karen's feet free of her boots and socks.

"I dunno - what if she has a broken rib or something? Surely you can't know everything -"

"I'd know Foggy. I can hear that you had cheese before you went to bed."

"I'm not lactose intolerant, Matt"

"Yes you are."

"Goddammit." 

He'll probably never tell Foggy just how thankful he really is that he's here, that he's not dealing with all of this mess alone. But he could really do without the questioning voice in his ear right now, he has enough questions of his own. And what Foggy doesn't know is that there isn't time to get her to hospital, isn't time to do anything more than what he's already doing, because he can hear her heartbeat. And it's weak. Getting weaker by the second.

"Just let me do this. Okay Foggy?"

He nods and Matt goes back to the task at hand, his teeth chattering violently now, his body beginning the excruciating process of warming up, a debilitating ache gnawing at every one of his fingertips. He audibly snarls at the agony of it as he moves his hands, the slick black fabric that's wrapped around his torso clinging bitterly to his skin, his body heat abandoning him with callous speed.

He struggles numbly with Karen's jean fly for what feels like several precious minutes. When he finally gets it loose, he pulls everything off her, leaving no room for modesty, stripping his own shirt too.

'It's me Karen, it's Matt, we're gonna get you warm okay?" And he begins drying her skin, scrubbing, creating friction, getting rid of all the moisture he can before he moves her under the covers.

"You should get in with her," Foggy says, standing there doing that thing that he does, looking stunned, questions at his lips, "body heats the fastest way to warm someone up. Learned that in boy scouts."

"You didn't go to boy scouts." Matt frowns.

"You're right. I thought it was about cookies. But that was just girl scouts."

By some miracle Matt manages to chuckle slightly even though his jaw feels almost frozen shut. He knows Foggy would sooner see himself half frozen to death than have to watch Karen go through it, he loves her just as much as a friend as Matt loves her as - well, more than that.

But to get into bed with her he must first get his own damn clothes off. He tries to command his burning fingers to unbuckle his belt but they're so numb he can't control them.

"Foggy - can I get a hand?"

He feels him roll his eyes, "people will talk, Matt," he says, as steps forward and writhes it open for him.

"I'll call you tomorrow. Let you know how she is," Matt says as he peels the fabric away from his legs and scuffles stiffly under the covers. 

Foggy nods and leaves reluctantly, knowing there's little else he can do.

Matt can barely hold a thought still in his own head, the base of his skull is throbbing with every involuntary convulsion of his body but he manages a few comforting words, if only for the faint chance that she can still hear him, it's just the two of them now, facing the long slog of the night ahead together, holding her tight, as he finally stills enough to shut his eyes.

* * *

It takes Karen a long time to fight herself out of the deep abyss of sleep. But the slow bustle of the city beckons her, the red haze of sunlight through her eyelids telling her it's morning. Other than that, she has no idea where she is or how she's come to be so enveloped in seemingly endless warmth.

She moves cautiously and discovers how her chest aches. Muscles, tendons and sinew straining - such an all encompassing pain she toys with the idea that her bones have tried to crawl out of her body during the night, only to return excruciatingly, back the way they came. She's no less disoriented when she finally opens her eyes either, realising now that she's in Matt's apartment, in Matt's bed to be exact, and from where she's positioned, facing his living room, she can see the jeans and shoes she'd been wearing the night before, strewn out all over the floor. Her arms are folded and clinging to her sides, skin on skin, and behind the blanket that's wrapped around her back is the source of all the heat, Matt having sought out bare flesh, his fingers tucked between her waist and the mattress.

Of course it doesn't take him long to sense she's awake, his gruff voice jumping from his mouth before he's even had a chance to shake off sleep, "Karen? You okay? Are you hurting anywhere?"

But she finds it more difficult than expected to talk against the arid lump in her throat. He reaches over to the bedside table, helping her to tilt her head up towards a glass of water, all but some of the cool liquid seeming to dribble down the sides of her neck. 

"How'd I get here?" She asks sleepily.

Matt seems surprised, "you don't remember? Last night? At the docks?"

"Yes but - after.. I"

For a moment he seems to consider how much easier it would be if she just didn't know, maybe he's right, but he tells her anyway, "the tip off you got. There was something fishy about it. So I followed you. And they ambushed you Karen, I don't know what their intentions were but -"

She feels it then, tastes it. The grittiness in her throat, the salt in her lungs, it explains everything. 

"The river?"

"Yeah."

"You got me out?"

"Yes." He says simply.

"Did I black out? I don't remember anything after -"

Matt swallows hard, "you were in there a while Karen, you weren't breathing."

_Weren't breathing_? Suddenly the seriousness of what happened dawns on her and her mind grants her a scrap of memory, nothing but blackness and the rush of bubbles past her ears, and choking and coughing - so much coughing -

"I nearly - " 

"Don't think about it," Matt cuts her off, shifting slightly under the covers allowing her to catch a glimpse of his hip, a long line of bare skin merging into sleek muscled thighs. He's naked. She's naked - he'd recused her, undressed her, and that in itself stirs up all sorts of feelings that she's too tired and confused to unpack right now.

"Did I hurt you?" He says, his hand extending out towards her bruised chest. 

"No," she lies. Truth is, she's sore and she's exhausted. Her skin feels like paper, like the cold has thinned her out and brought everything to the surface - it doesn't help the pain, but it does make his touch all the more electric.

"You're sure? I can take you to the hospital, I don't want - "

What she wants is for him to shut up. He's being too caring, too soft. It's only hastening the wave of emotion that's coming. But as always, he senses her tears a long minute before she does,

"Karen, it's okay," he whispers as he pulls her tight into his chest, "don't think about it, I've got you now. You're safe," he repeats it like a prayer, over and over, rocking slightly as he rests his lips against the top of her head.

They've never been as close as this, so still, so completely soaked in the smell of each other's skin, it's so intimate she's scared to move for fear it'll ruin the beauty of it. 

But in the end it's too tempting not to press her lips to his chest, tasting the salt from her own tears there, knowing, unashamedly, what it is that she wants - to revel with him, in the cheap thrill of being alive. 

Soft kisses take her up to his neck where she hears him let out a half restrained breath, his Adam's apple rising and falling under her lips as he swallows. Then she pulls back enough that she can meet his eyes again, finding that sweet familiarity in each other, lips parted and tentivititve at first, but with Karen quick to deepen the kiss with a slide of her tongue against his.

"Karen," he murmurs, huskily, wanting, his hand leaving her hair to travel down her back, "if I touch you… I don't think I'll be able to stop."

"Good," she breathes, and she slides his hand away from her waist to rest between her hip bones. She feels desperate. She needs this, she doesn't care if she has to ask for it. She opens her legs, anticipating his reaction before he gets there, nervous fingers gliding through slick arousal.

" _Jesus_ , Karen," he moans. And it already feels amazing enough just to have him touch her. But while he's still kissing her, while his tongue is still sliding against her lips, all she can think about is what that hot, gorgeous mouth of his is capable of doing. She wants him to taste her, she wants to burn up in the heat of it.

"Matt," she pants, "your mouth - please," and he lets out a wildly possessive sound, lips dragging and stubble scraping, unwrapping her from her cocoon of fleece and silk, her nerves rising to meet the kiss of cool air at her skin.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good Karen. So good." 

She watches the ripples of muscle in his back, the curve of his ass, his firm thighs spread out behind him, she's completely forgotten about the pain already, and fuck, she thinks she might loose her mind just looking at that body.

The lightest flick of his tongue is enough to make her gasp, but her hands on his shoulders command him. _More, more, more_. And so he delves into her, enveloping her like she's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. The sounds he makes, the muffled grunts of satisfaction. Worshipping her. And when he slips two fingers inside to join the lapping of his tongue she knows she's done for, after only a few short strokes she's anchoring herself with a fist through his hair as he's riding it out with her and she's moaning his name, and it's everything, he's everything, but she needs more, she has to have more.

"Matt, I need -"

"I know," he says heatedly, "Fuck, I need it too -" 

For once there's no question, no doubt. Right now, everything else can wait. He spreads her wide and slides himself into the heat of her without wasting another second. And God, she's never seen him look as gorgeous. He chokes out a strangled grunt as he thrusts deep, his cock filling her up so perfectly, heating her to her core, every inch of her singing, buzzing, alive. She feels that same emotion as before threatening to claw its way from her burnt out throat, too much of everything spilling over, filling up her lungs - like she's drowning again, but in the best possible way.

Her hand slips into thick hair and he groans, "Karen, I thought I'd lost you," his voice is desperate and straining, "fuck - you scared me. I don't know what I'd do if - "

And now it's her comforting him, his stubble leaving a fiery after burn at her jaw, "but you didn't Matt - you didn't - you saved me."

"It's not enough," he hisses, biting his lip and leaning back to circle his fingers right above where he's thrusting into her, "you deserve more Karen - more than just _this,"_ she's finding that hard to believe right now, in fact, she thinks the exact opposite is true.

"You think I'm better than you?" She chokes out, "is that it?" and there's not a single scar that she doesn't make a point of touching as she roams her hands greedily down his body.

" _Yes_ ," he says, "you don't know, Karen - you don't know how perfect you are," the last of the duvet slips off the side of the bed then, as if to leave them bare, just skin, and flesh and warmth moving against the sheets, "you think too much of me," he groans and the pillow gets tugged out from beneath her head as he leans back in, stretching her out, kissing and sucking, leaving marks at her neck as he fucks her -

She wants to scream. You _stupid, idiot, man_. But it's impossible to argue with him anymore, she can't stop the sound that comes out of her when he finds that just right angle.

 _Yes - yes_ . So close sweetheart, _so close_. 

He grips her hand, latching on tight, giving her all of himself. And it feels like the most perfect moment, all those years waiting, narrowed down to just this - to be so endlessly full of him, and yet to know, she's never going to have enough.

* * *

It's a while before Karen attempts to move from the position he's left her in. The sweat on her skin is making her cold again, she reaches for the blanket that's fallen to the side of the bed and spreads it over her and Matt's legs, noticing how he clicks out of his trance when she touches him.

"Matt," she says, gently, "what you said. About not deserving.. you know that's not true, don't you?"

He sighs as he turns to face her, "I don't know, Karen."

She feels sad for him, but then again, at least he's being honest. To this day she still doesn't know what he thinks he is. Is he a bad person? A martyr? Does he think he's a soldier because he bloodies his fists? Or that he's complicit, because sometimes he doesn't bloody them enough? 

Either way, the burden is heavy. And the only thing in the world she wants is to be the person to help him carry it. 

"Well. You know how I feel," she says.

He answers, "I do."

"And you know that I think you're wrong," she smirks thinly, "and you know what that means?"

"Karen Page is never wrong," Matt smiles.

"Exactly."

And the slow caress of his fingers against her collar bone makes her breath hitch all over again,

"I like who I am when I'm with you, Karen. That's what I do know."

Isn't that love, Matt? True, honest love? She nearly says it, but then she doesn't. She tucks herself into him so that she's back in the position where this all started, her cheek pressed against his chest and she hums -

"I think I can work with that."

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> How many water metaphors did you spot? I count 1000 😂


End file.
